


we are the young & unafraid

by shinelikestars



Category: Scream (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, College/University, F/F, Identity Issues, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Trauma, study abroad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25184812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinelikestars/pseuds/shinelikestars
Summary: audrey just wants to get away from it all. but the consequences of leaving audrey jensen behind may prove to be more devastating than she'd anticipated.(aka the one where audrey and emma study abroad, and Shit Goes Wrong bc well it's them and i'm mean)
Relationships: Audrey Jensen & Brooke Maddox, Emma Duval & Brooke Maddox, Emma Duval/Audrey Jensen, Noah Foster & Audrey Jensen
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> hey there! been a minute since i've written for the Scream fandom, or written anything at all really, but recent life events have kind of put a spark in me to write again, and i figured it couldn't hurt to pick up an old habit. hence, here i am.
> 
> title taken from "Young & Unafraid" by The Moth & The Flame
> 
> tw for panic attacks

Audrey doesn’t fully believe her eyes when she first reads the acceptance letter.

Emma had been keeping an anxious track on the potential dates when they’d hear back, just as Audrey could have predicted she would, subscribing to the College Confidential forum and scanning through countless college admission Reddit boards during their lunch hour. Nina would have made endless fun of her for it, though Emma wouldn’t have been sitting at Audrey’s table for lunch if Nina were here anyway.

(It feels wrong to be grateful that someone’s dead, but there’s a kind of sick relief in it, in knowing that Nina’s not around to tease Emma into leaving her again.)

Finally, on one rainy Friday in March, Emma let out a little gasp over her wilting salad and tilted her phone screen so Audrey could see. “People are saying the decisions are gonna come out today,” Emma said, breathless with hope, and Audrey made a silent prayer that she wouldn’t have to drive up to New York to threaten any admissions officers this weekend.

When Emma announced her intentions to apply to school in New York, Audrey had been ecstatic for her, even if the news had made her stomach twist. It made sense, that Emma would want to finally get out of their small town, disappear into a city big and busy enough to help her forget Lakewood’s blood-spattered streets. Even if it hurt to think about leaving her, Audrey had accepted that it was time for Emma to move past this chapter of her life, and maybe move past their friendship, too. After all, she’d reasoned with herself, trauma could only bond people together for so long, right?

Then Emma had told her she should apply, too. And Audrey had done it on a whim, submitting her mediocre grades with a portfolio she was proud enough of to let strangers examine. The personal essays had come later, written over glasses of whiskey and through tears a sober Audrey would never have allowed to escape, the hint of trauma in her words so embarrassing that she’d had to squeeze her eyes shut as she clicked “Submit”. Her parents found out over Friday night dinner, Audrey muttering something about it over a plate of lukewarm casserole as her mom’s eyes went wide and her dad snorted.

“You’re always following that Duval girl everywhere, Audrey,” he’d said tersely, taking a long sip of his beer. “I thought last year would’ve taught you to finally follow your own path. Your mom and I raised you better than that.”

Audrey had tuned out the rest of the conversation.

Now, as she reads and re-reads the words, _Dear Audrey, On behalf of the admissions committee, it is my honor and privilege to share with you that you have been admitted to the School of the Arts_ , a strange sort of panic starts to fog her brain. Because she wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t prepared for this possibility, this future where she’d actually get to have Emma by her side, re-learn how to be a normal person with Emma. Of all the people who might get the privilege of keeping Emma around, she’d never allowed herself to imagine being one of those people. She’d pictured maybe Brooke sharing a dorm room with Emma, encouraging Emma to rush a sorority and then inviting her to all of their sorority functions even when Emma dropped halfway through. She’d pictured Noah meeting up with Emma for coffee, sending Audrey updates on how she was doing every month or so. She’d even pictured Emma in an art class with Stavo, catching a glimpse of him at a party every once in a while.

But she’d never given herself permission to hope that she might share a future with Emma. And now that the possibility is there – confirmed by the all-caps texts Emma’s sending her, exclamation point after exclamation point proving she’s gotten in, too – it’s overwhelming. Audrey doesn’t know what to do with it.

She was willing to die for Emma. She still would, should some weird admirer of Kieran and Piper’s pop up out of the mist and threaten them all again. But she’s not sure if she’s willing to _live_ for Emma.

But maybe, she thinks, thumbs hovering over her keyboard, she might have to try.

∞

Their orientation date is in early July, and they decide to make a road trip out of it, taking Audrey’s beat-up SUV through nine different states over the course of a week. They stop at cheap gas stations and eat hot dogs that reek of food poisoning. At Emma’s request, they pull over at every scenic viewing point, Audrey pulling out her camera to take pictures of the girl she finds to be the better view when Emma’s not looking. Brooke gifts them an absurd amount of hotel membership points so they don’t have to sleep in skeezy motels, and Audrey doesn’t miss the way their friend “accidentally” books them the couple’s suite once or twice.

She realizes that she sleeps better when Emma’s right next to her. It’s scary to think about that too hard.

New York City is hot and humid this time of year, and Audrey’s hands shake where they clutch the steering wheel as she navigates to their hotel, but it’s worth every harrowing moment of city driving to see the look of wonder in Emma’s eyes as she takes in the skyscrapers and crowds of people they’ll never meet.

She wishes she could pull out her camera and capture that expression on her best friend’s face, lest she forget it, but Audrey at least knows she’ll never forget the feeling it gives her.

Orientation makes her head spin with how fast it goes by. Either by luck or by some clever admissions person noting their shared trauma on their files, she and Emma end up in the same orientation group, so she at least has those dimpled smiles to get her through their group leader’s attempts to force her to memorize the school spirit chants. They get friendly enough with the people in the group to exchange first names and majors, then phone numbers on Day Two. A boy with blonde hair and a high school lacrosse T-shirt (Audrey’s taken to calling him Lax Bro in her head, even if she knows Emma would scold her for it) suggests they make a group chat, and Emma’s all too excited to convince Audrey to participate.

When orientation’s over, Lax Bro proposes an outing, a night of clubhopping that instantly makes Audrey want to say no. She’s perfectly content to stay in their hotel room, curled up under the overly-starched sheets as she scrolls through her camera roll from their road trip, but she sees the curiosity, the want written plain on Emma’s face, and knows what’s going to happen.

She’s going to go with them, because she won’t be able to relax if she knows Emma’s out there with these strangers, getting drunk in a new city, while she’s not with her. So she’ll go with them, use the fake ID Noah procured for her junior year so they could buy cheap tequila from the ABC store the next town over, maybe take a shot or two – just enough to take the edge off of watching Emma dance with pretty boys and even prettier girls. Emma will get drunk enough to feel nauseous but not actually throw up, which will be Audrey’s cue to say enough goodbyes for the both of them and hurry them home. They’ll both wake up tomorrow with headaches, though Audrey’s will be for entirely different reasons, and they’ll enjoy the hotel breakfast buffet and drink shitty coffee before starting the long drive back to Lakewood.

It’s just a fancier version of what they do back home, Audrey tells herself. It’ll be fine. At least here, it won’t feel like there’s ghosts watching their every move.

A girl named Mallory texts in the group while they’re getting ready, Emma curling her hair in front of the bathroom mirror, wrist held at a delicate angle to avoid burning herself, and Audrey examining a bottle of cologne that she can’t decide if Emma will like. She gets a vague flash of a memory of this Mallory chick showing up to orientation in a black pleather skirt way too hot for 90-degree weather and far too fancy for the occasion, though she’d somehow pulled it off anyway without seeming ostentatious. She thinks maybe Mallory mentioned having a sister who goes here, a suspicion that’s confirmed when Mallory says as much in the group chat and sends the address to a club said sister recommended.

“Shit!” Emma hisses from the bathroom, and Audrey hears the curling iron sizzle.

“You okay?” she asks, switching off the random weather report the TV’s been playing low in the background.

“Yeah,” Emma calls back. “Give me five minutes and we can head out.” She steps out of the bathroom looking so beautiful it makes Audrey’s chest hurt, and she has to remind herself that she has to be careful tonight. As good as their friendship has been lately, they’re still on delicate terms, the thread of tension Nina created and Piper and Kieran encouraged never fully gone. They won’t ever enjoy the easiness that Emma and Brooke have, that casual ability to just change in front of each other or do each other’s makeup, not since Audrey’s stupid barn confession. There will always be that shred of resentment there, those little flickers of Audrey’s letters to Piper and Emma’s abandonment, and that’s not something even time can heal.

It’s a pain Audrey is learning to live with, but for tonight, at least, she’s going to try to forget it.

∞

Half of the group is already drunk when they get to the club, so Audrey gravitates toward the other half, who are all still varying degrees of tipsy. Mallory is back in her pleather skirt and a lavender blouse that looks like something Brooke would wear. The girls insist on taking a group picture, which Audrey tries to get out of by offering to take it, but Mallory shoves her phone into a passing stranger’s hand and tells Audrey to cram in. Emma sends the resulting shot to their group chat with Brooke, Noah and Stavo. _Aww tell that girl in the black skirt I like her shirt!!_ Brooke texts back. _I wore that on my date with that cute firefighter from New Orleans lol. Be safe cuties don’t drink too much or do anything I wouldn’t do xoxo_.

Audrey takes pride in having correctly guessed Brooke’s taste in shirts, and Emma laughs and tells her to wipe the smirk off her face as she takes her hand to lead them into the club. The drunk half of their party heads for the dance floor, but Audrey and Emma join the group congregating around the bar, Emma asking the girl next to her if she should get something sweet or something more adult, Audrey already planning on the best whiskey she can get with the meager amount left in her student checking account.

Audrey sticks as close to the bar as she can get away with while still having eyes on Emma, who’s chatting with some of the girls from their group, inching ever closer to the dance floor. She’s staring down her second shot of whiskey when Mallory sidles up to her. “Nice. I respect a girl who doesn’t go straight for the sugariest thing on the menu.”

Audrey raises a brow and downs her shot. “No shame in enjoying a good Cosmopolitan,” she says, brain immediately going to Emma and her favorite game with Brooke of creating the sweetest alcoholic concoctions possible. Even in the dark lighting of the club, she swears she can see Mallory’s cheeks redden, and guilt rears its ugly head as quickly as her protectiveness over Emma had.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off like a pretentious ass,” Mallory quickly says, stepping closer. “I just—” She pauses for a second, the process of weighing out the pros and cons of what she could say so clearly playing out on her face. “I think you’re cute,” she admits, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a way that’s probably a tried-and-true trick but is still annoyingly endearing.

“Oh?” Audrey tries to hide the smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah. I saw you on Day One and liked your style and figured I’d shoot my shot with a bit of alcohol to help.” Mallory gestures to the half-empty glass in her hand and laughs nervously. “Clearly, it doesn’t make me the most eloquent.”

The smile finally breaks loose, and Audrey leans forward, leather jacket crinkling at the elbows. “Well, for what it’s worth, I like your style, too,” she says. “Reminds me of one of my best friends back home.”

Mallory grins and takes the open seat next to her. “Oh yeah? What’s she like?”

“Intense. Doesn’t take any shit, knows what she wants, but she’ll do anything for you once she gets to know you.” She takes a sip of the free water the bartender provided earlier. “Super stylish. She drove me crazy before I really knew her, ’cause I thought she was some shallow diva type. It’s one of the few times where I’m glad I got proven wrong.”

Mallory chuckles. “That’s sweet. I’m from a small town, too, but I never really fit in with anyone there. It’s a football and Friday night bonfires kind of place, I guess, and I’ve always been more of the type to read a good serial killer novel or watch a stupid horror movie,” she says. Audrey doesn’t miss the way her eyes drift to the dance floor, where Emma and the rest of their group are mingling in their own little crowd.

“Sure you wouldn’t rather be over there with them?” she says quietly, Mallory’s eyes flicking back to her. “Emma and I are kind of a package deal, but if you wanna make new friends, joining her is probably a safer bet. I’m not exactly the friendly type.”

An awkward beat passes, and then Mallory shakes her head. “I’m just fine right here. And I’ll have to disagree with you as to whether you’re the friendly type.”

She doesn’t give Audrey the chance for a sarcastic response before she’s calling the bartender over to order another round.

∞

Two more shots later, Audrey’s dangerously close to tipsy, Emma and Mallory well into that as their group stumbles out of the nightclub. She’ll never admit it to Brooke or Noah, but tonight’s actually been the most fun she’s ever had going out. She’d traded life stories with Mallory at the bar until Emma had come up and dragged them onto the dance floor, and Mallory had stolen her leather jacket halfway through a particularly charged rendition of a Shawn Mendes song, winding it around her waist in a way that had made Audrey’s skin heat up.

It’s fun to have this sort of easy attraction, something she can enjoy for a little while without feeling the pressure of the deep connections she so quickly shared with Rachel and Emma. Weird as it sounds, she’d forgotten that most people didn’t fall in love over shared trauma, that the majority of the population could cite a well-placed pickup line or chance meeting as the start of their relationship rather than a genuine life or death situation.

Lax Bro suggests they hit up a pizzeria to soak up some of the alcohol, and taking one glance at Emma, Audrey’s more than happy to agree to that idea. Plus, a not-insignificant part of her kind of wants to see where things go with Mallory; the other girl’s eyes don’t seem to leave her the whole walk to the pizza place.

Could this be normalcy? Is this what college will be, weekend outings like these supplementing all-nighters and library study sessions? She pictures herself trying out every hipster coffee shop in the city with Mallory, finding weird off-Broadway plays to hit up together, going thrifting with Brooke FaceTiming in to provide advice, and an unexpected giddiness takes root. Because maybe Piper and Kieran didn’t take all of that away from her, after all. Maybe this is finally her second chance at a real life, something more than the survivor label. Maybe this is how she gets away from the Audrey Jensen she so desperately wants to leave in Lakewood.

The pizzeria smells deliciously of melted cheese and garlic knots, and they all cram into a tiny booth, Mallory’s knee knocking against hers on one side and Emma’s hand squeezing her shoulder on the other. The spark she feels at Mallory’s skin on hers distracts her too much to really be paying attention to what they order, and Audrey only hears something about a couple large pepperoni pizzas, one veggie pizza, before her attention is fully back on the girl to her right.

She and Mallory split the veggie pizza, and Emma teases her about not flirting too hard when they’re all eating. But Audrey’s lost to the happiness that suddenly seems to be drowning her, the prospect of a tomorrow and all the excitingly normal days to come after that, and she can’t find it in herself to care like she normally would. So she lets Mallory dab at a spot of pizza grease on her cheek with a napkin, and she lets Mallory lean in just a little too close, and then, before she knows it, she’s getting up to go with Mallory to the bathroom while the rest of the group is playing a game of Two Truths and a Lie.

They barely even make it inside a stall before Mallory’s mouth is on hers, hands brushing over the collar of her jacket and making her shiver. “I can’t believe I’m ending freshman orientation like this,” she manages to get out in between kisses.

“Yeah, well, I can’t believe I get to kiss the actual Audrey Jensen,” Mallory murmurs, lips brushing against her jaw.

The temperature feels like it drops twenty degrees in the five seconds it takes Audrey to process what she’s said.

“What?” she asks, pulling back. A vaguely annoyed expression crosses Mallory’s face at the loss of contact.

“I’m just lucky, that’s all I meant,” she says, huffing a little and tugging at the sleeve of Audrey’s jacket. “C’mon, babe, we’re not here to talk, right?”

“One, don’t call me ‘babe’,” Audrey snaps, “and two, we’re not doing anything _other_ than talking until you clarify what the hell you meant.”

Mallory rolls her eyes, finally taking a step back. “Look, I’m really into true crime, okay? It’s like I told you earlier – I think serial killers are cool. I read about the Lakewood Four online and thought you sounded like a badass,” she says, every word a stab to Audrey’s heart. “So when I found out that you were gonna be in my orientation group, I got excited, figured I’d do some research on you and your friends.” She gestures to her shirt, _Brooke’s_ shirt, and Audrey’s stomach twists painfully.

“So you _stalked_ me and my friends?” she hisses, fists clenching. This stall was small enough to begin with, but now it feels like the walls are closing in around them, and _god_ , why hadn’t she just stuck with Emma, why had she ever thought she’d be able to make friends on her own—

“I wouldn’t call it stalking,” Mallory retorts, crossing her arms. “And hey,” she adds with a smirk, “it worked, didn’t it? You noticed me ’cause I reminded you of your friend, we got a good thing going, and now we can have some fun, can’t we?”

“Fuck you,” Audrey spits, pushing past her and storming out of the stall, the door hitting the wall with a loud bang that makes her chest constrict.

“Okay, I get it, I freaked you out and you’re not in the mood anymore, that’s okay, but can you at least tell me about Piper?” Mallory babbles on, clearly not getting the message as she follows Audrey back towards their booth. “I’ve always wondered what she said to you in your meet-ups—”

“Get the _fuck away from me_!” Audrey screams, whirling around to face the other girl. Fear flashes in Mallory’s eyes, but she doesn’t have it in her right now to feel guilty for that, vision going blurry with that awful mix of panic and fury only Kieran and Piper have ever been able to make her feel. Her pulse is roaring in her ears, but she’s vaguely aware of the commotion around her, people from their group hurrying over to see what’s going on, Emma saying her name behind her, but it’s so much, _too much_ , and she can’t stay here, she can’t—

The warm night air is already on her face by the time rational thought returns, the adrenaline rush having carried her halfway down the block before logic intervenes. Luckily, Mallory hasn’t followed, and it’s the realization that she’s finally away from the danger that allows her brain to realize she’s safe, her breath coming out in desperate half-gasps and hands on her knees as she tries to force herself to calm down.

Her mind goes back to a method Gina taught her when they first got together, something about grounding herself. _Name five things you can see_. Audrey looks around, takes in the flickering streetlights, the messy graffiti on the corner up ahead, the glow of skyscrapers on the horizon, the empty Coke can tossed onto the sidewalk, the beaten-up Prius that zooms past.

_Four things you can touch_. She reaches into her pocket and feels the leather of her wallet, the peeling rubber of her phone case, the rough denim of her jeans, the stitching. _Three things you can hear._ Music drifting out of someone’s apartment, somebody taking out their trash, traffic a couple blocks away. _Two things you can smell._ Her own cologne, a nearby sewer. _One thing you can taste_. She grimaces, nose wrinkling as she registers the taste of Mallory’s cherry lip balm on her tongue – but it’s worked, her heart having slowed to a healthier pace, and she silently thanks Gina for the only good thing to ever come out of their relationship.

“Audrey?” She startles at the sound, Emma slightly out of breath as she jogs up.“God, I’m really out of shape,” she jokes, dimples popping through as she smiles nervously at her. It makes Audrey want to melt in the worst of ways.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, unable to find the courage to meet her best friend’s eyes. It finally hits her, how badly she’s fucked things up for them, freaking out so bad in front of people they’ve just met – she’ll be lucky if this shit doesn’t end up on Twitter or splashed across the headlines of some crappy tabloid, _Lakewood Four survivor goes batshit on innocent teenager_ or some bullshit like that.

“Hey, hey, no, none of that,” Emma says, squeezing gently at her shoulder. “Don’t be sorry. I just wanna know what happened back there. You looked really scared, Auds.”

“That Mallory girl, she was flirting with me all night, and I thought–” Audrey takes a deep breath, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. “Well, I don’t know what I thought. She seemed interested, I guess, and we were, um –”

Emma raises a brow, and Audrey swallows hard. “We were about to hook up,” she says, shoving her hands into her pockets. “But she said something weird about getting to be with ‘the actual Audrey Jensen’, and obviously that was weird, so I called her on it and she admitted she’s like, one of those weird serial killer fans and had looked us all up to get info on us once she figured out we were in her orientation group.”

Emma looks at her with sad eyes, and Audrey so desperately wants to be somewhere else, _anywhere_ else but here, standing on a grimy street corner with cheap pizza churning in her stomach and getting pitied by a girl who has never loved her back.

It occurs to her that she doesn’t have it in her to do this again. She _can’t_ do this again. If she has to field questions at a frat party about the worst thing to ever happen to her, or stand in line at the campus coffee shop and know she’s being watched, or have a professor give her that same _“Oh, poor dear”_ expression Emma’s giving her right now – she’ll break. It’s a simple fact of life at this point.

“I can’t do this anymore, Em,” she confesses, hating the feeling of cool tears trickling down her overheated cheeks. “I’m so _tired_.” Her voice cracks, and it makes them both flinch.

“So what do you wanna do?” Emma asks quietly.

“If I could, I’d get away as far as I possibly could, go somewhere where nobody’s ever even heard of Lakewood.” Her phone’s vibrating in her pocket, and she bets it’s Noah or Brooke calling, somebody having already clued them in to what’s gone down. She ignores it.

And then the idea hits her.

“And, Emma, I could do that,” she says, unable to keep the excitement at bay as the image in her head grows increasingly enticing. “I could take a gap year, study abroad. Just think about it, man, finding a place where you at least wouldn’t be able to understand the language if people _were_ talking about you.”

Emma laughs. “Yeah, that does sound pretty nice,” she admits, hiking her purse higher onto her shoulder.

“I’m gonna do it,” Audrey resolves. “I have to. I’ll go crazy if I stay here.”

“It’s not a bad idea…” Emma trails off, and Audrey gets ahead of herself.

“Yeah, well, you could come with me.”

Emma bites her lip, and Audrey instantly regrets the words, already steadying herself for the rejection. She’s forgotten how different they are, has let herself slip into believing they’re on the same page again. Emma loves who she is now, loves the name stamped across her wrist. Why would she want to leave that behind when she’s worked so hard to accept it?

She glances down to see Emma grabbing for her hand, twining their fingers together. It makes her heart ache. “You know I’ve always got you, Auds,” she says softly, and here it comes, the second part of the sentence, the _but_ where she explains why it’s time for them to take different paths, why this is the natural fork in the road where Emma spends her Saturdays at museums and kisses boys whose names she won’t remember and lives the life she’s always wanted while Audrey goes and figures out what she even wanted in the first place. Emma is going to break her heart for the second time, she thinks, but now they’ll have an awkward road trip home to add insult to injury.

Except the second part of that sentence never comes.

Instead, Emma squeezes her hand and looks up at her, eyes shining with an emotion Audrey can’t quite place. “So let’s go.”


	2. two

Like every well-intentioned plan involving Emma, Audrey expects their parents’ immediate response to be a firm “No” – or maybe, on Maggie’s part, a gentle, “Sweetie, I love that you want to see the world, but this is just way too short of a notice”. They make it home from New York, and they do the research, of course, Audrey tackling potential programs while Emma explores ways to get the Office of Admissions and the Dean of Students on their side. Noah, Brooke and Stavo even join in on the planning, Noah bringing the largest, sugariest Slurpees that Emma’s mom used to never let her consume from the 7/11 around the corner, Brooke creating 16-page itineraries based off of her favorite Instagram influencers’ travels and her own personal experience. Stavo even surprises them with a little sketch of the Duomo in Florence, one of the sights Emma says she most wants to see, and it makes Audrey feel a sort of warmth for him that the Audrey of one year ago would be utterly shocked by.

It’s disgustingly fun, bonding with them like this, dreaming up a million different fantasies of going cliff-diving with Emma in Croatia, doing that cheesy tour of the Guinness factory in Dublin together, getting caught in the rain in Paris and laughing their asses off as they try to run into a café to escape it – everything in her mind full of Emma, _always_ with Emma.

But Audrey doesn’t actually let herself believe it will happen. The second she feels her heart start to race or the butterflies start up in her gut, she shuts it down, pushes the idea out of her head and reminds herself of the likely reality of every single person they need a yes from saying no instead. After all, even though the trip to Shallow Grove Island had been so important for all of them, had led them to discover varying important things about their personal lives, it had also ended in Alex Whitten’s death. That had scared their parents off allowing them to travel for a good long while; it was insanely difficult to convince Maggie and Audrey’s parents to let them road trip to New York without parental supervision. Jetting off to Europe for a good four months will net them an instant denial, and perhaps a visit to the therapist on Emma’s part.

In the end, Audrey can’t be sure as to what it is that starts the initial suspicion. Maybe it’s the way she and Emma start to butter their parents up immediately after returning from orientation; maybe it’s that Maggie catches Brooke bringing over an “example wardrobe” for Emma to look at (she’s convinced that Emma simply _must_ go to Fashion Week in Milan, and Emma hasn’t had the heart to say no yet). It’s probably that her mom finds Stavo’s drawing on her desk when Audrey’s over at Emma’s, but she’ll never know for sure. All she knows is the sudden panic she feels when she and Emma come back from the movies one afternoon to find both Jensen parents and Maggie crowded around the kitchen table, faces solemn and mouths set in grim lines.

“Oh, hi?” Emma says, brows knit together in confusion as she stops in her tracks. “Is something going on?”

Audrey’s heart is pounding so hard that she can feel it through her T-shirt. “You girls might want to sit down,” her dad says, harsh kitchen lighting bringing out the deep lines in his face the stress of the past few years has incurred. They don’t stop to ask more questions, just do as they’re told, both girls having enough experience with Audrey’s father’s short fuse to know it’s best to follow orders first and complain later.

Her mouth has gone dry, but Emma somehow finds her hand under the table and squeezes once, twice, three times, their old signal for _“I’m here, it’s gonna be okay”_ , and Audrey has to believe her on that. Maybe they’re just gonna get another lecture on staying out too late. Maybe Sheriff Acosta caught her speeding the other day. Maybe Student Affairs somehow found out about the Mallory incident and called to apologize. Whatever it is, it can’t be anything worse than what they’ve already gone through.

Maggie has never been good at lecturing them when they’re together like this, that inexplicable soft spot for Audrey preventing her from getting blunt like she will with Emma, and chemo drained all the fire out of Audrey’s own mother; she’s more comfortable sitting and observing these days. So of course it’s up to Audrey’s dad, a lifetime of admonishing from a pulpit steeling him even when it comes to Emma, whose quiet guilt and big puppy-dog eyes are usually too much for most adults to handle.

“Did you girls think we weren’t gonna find out about this?” he says, slapping down a piece of paper in front of them. Audrey’s hands grow slick with sweat as she examines it, Emma tilting her head slightly so there’s room for both of them to look, and realizes it’s a printed-out exchange between Maggie and the Dean of Students. She hears Emma’s sharp intake of breath and knows that she, too, is aware of just how epically they’ve fucked up; when Emma contacted the Dean a couple of days ago to seriously inquire about changing their plans for the fall semester, they should’ve guessed that the Dean would contact the person on her FERPA, the person paying the tuition. And of course it hadn’t been hard for Audrey’s parents to connect the dots; she spots Stavo’s sketch of the Duomo in her mom’s lap.

“We were waiting for the right time to tell you,” Emma offers up, calmer than she has any right to be. “We wanted to get as much information as possible before coming to you with anything—”

“Emma, the fall semester starts in _a month_ ,” Maggie says tightly. “That’s an impossible timeline. Most people plan these things at least a semester in advance.”

Emma falls silent, her face flushing with irritation, an expression that Audrey knows all too well from botched rescue missions and fights in the school hallway. It doesn’t sit right with her. It’s one thing for Audrey to be the reason behind that look; it’s another thing for their parents to be the cause.

So she gathers all her courage and says, “Look, we already got in. We talked to the professor coordinating the program and got his approval, talked to our advisors – if you guys will just let us go, we can do it. Everything’s already set up for us to go.” She hates the note of desperation that creeps into her voice, hates the trembling in her hands that she tries to hide in her lap, hates that the thought of staying in the States for even another four months makes her feel like she’s going to explode into pieces so tiny, not even Emma will be able to put her back together.

But it’s clearly an explosion that is going to have to happen, because Audrey already sees the _“No”_ forming on her father’s lips, the hard set of his jaw that always precedes a long-winded lecture on the car ride home about upholding Christian values and repenting for the sins Kieran and Piper convinced her to commit. (She’s never had the courage to admit to him that most of those sins didn’t take too much convincing, that some of them weren’t even Kieran and Piper’s own idea.)

So she is shocked when her mother speaks up.

“Nobody’s said it’s a bad idea, honey,” she says softly, the measured kindness of her words sending Audrey back to being fourteen and hearing the words _“I have cancer”_ at their own kitchen table. “We just don’t understand why you didn’t come to us before. Surely this isn’t an idea you just came up with.”

_If only they knew._ Audrey can feel Emma’s eyes on her, burning a hole through the sleeve of her T-shirt, and a chill races down her spine at the memory of orientation and Mallory, how the whiskey had still been burning in her gut as she’d shoved the other girl off of her and taken off running. They’d told Brooke, Noah and Stavo, of course, could never keep an experience with that special brand of Survivor Trauma a secret from the only other people who understood what it felt like, but she’d convinced Emma to keep it a secret from their parents. No point in alarming them when freedom was so close, she’d argued. Now it feels stupid, having omitted that, when it would probably at least gain them a bit of sympathy, the kind of sympathy that got Emma her tattoo, Noah a new PlayStation, Stavo a new drawing tablet, and Audrey – well, nothing for her, but that was to be expected, after all, when she was the reason Piper and Kieran had come here in the first place.

The silence that’s fallen between them is crushing, and Audrey is disappointed at the sudden tears that spring forth. She wants to pretend she can blame it on her body reacting to that psychosomatic sensation of having the air squeezed from her lungs, but Ms. Lang’s AP Psych class taught her enough to know it’s more than that, a weakness that can only be brought out in her by a select list of people.

Emma’s fingers drift across her elbow, a light, reassuring touch, before she clears her throat and finally breaks the quiet. “We know it’s a lot to ask, and I’m sure it’s hard to understand, but Audrey and I just feel so claustrophobic here,” she says, words going quivery at the end. “And it’s not just Lakewood. Even in New York, people are gonna see us on the street and know who we are, or at least know that a picture of us could get them a lot of likes. There’s no escaping who we are, or what happened to us—” Emma’s voice breaks at that, and Audrey’s chest hurts; she doesn’t have to be a mind-reader to know what’s going through her head, the guilt of falling for a killer, the pain of losing Riley, Will, Jake and Eli, the constant paranoia that still gifts them with sleepless nights more often than not.

After a breath, Emma continues, and Audrey wishes she could properly express how proud she is of her in this moment. “And we’re not saying we need to escape who we are for the rest of our lives. But we need a break, some time to recharge and feel like we can start school in New York as mentally prepared and healthy as we can be. And I don’t think we can do that if we don’t get away for a bit.” It’s impossible to gauge how any of their parents are feeling, the concern in Maggie’s eyes and her mother’s palpable as always, Audrey’s father eternally stone-faced.

“Just long enough to grow out a haircut, right?” Audrey says, allowing herself a tiny smile that blooms into a grin when her mom and Maggie laugh in unison. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that they were best friends once, too, like her and Emma.

“That’s how long we’ll be gone,” she continues, emboldened now, “and I promise when we come back, we’ll work twice as hard as any other freshman, go to all the office hours, join as many clubs as Emma’s Google Calendar can fit – we’ll do everything we need to. Just give us these four months.” There’s an unspoken _“please”_ tacked on to the end of her sentence, and the weight of it resonates with their parents, her father shifting uncomfortably in his seat as it hits him.

Maggie leans forward to get a better look at both of them, and Emma’s hand finds her under the table and squeezes hard.

“I guess we’ll have to make it work then, won’t we?”

∞

As the days blur into weeks that fly by with frightening speed, Brooke coaching them through calls to Housing & Residence Life and two very reluctant deans (it helps when they mention the phrase “Lakewood Four”), their moms slipping packing lists and international safety tips into their desk drawers, Audrey can’t help the feeling that this must be happening to somebody else. It’s a sensation that first appeared when she shot Piper on the dock and has never quite disappeared since; Noah jokes that she’s tried to pack too much into eighteen years of life, and her brain needs a decade or so to catch up. “On average, most people don’t have their first near-death experience until at least age 20,” he likes to remind her. It’s maybe the first time she’s ever been ahead of the curve on something.

Even as they hug their parents goodbye at the airport, even as they drop off their suitcases and indulge Emma’s nervous craving for a large triple Americano, even as they catch their connecting flight to Atlanta and anticipate the long layover there – even through all of this, Audrey has to fight the urge to detach completely. A stranger jostles her arm as they’re exiting the plane, and it makes her scar burn with an awful phantom pain. Does the girl who invited two psychopaths to the safe haven of her hometown deserve to escape, she wonders? What, exactly, has she done to earn this, to atone for the chaos and loss she brought into Emma, Brooke, Stavo and Noah’s lives? The metallic taste of guilt coats her tongue when she thinks about Jake, rotting under the fancy marble tombstone Brooke paid for, the stains from his guts never fully scrubbed out of the auditorium stage’s wood flooring, and here she is, jetting off for four months of unabashed freedom?

The unfairness of it all makes her skin itch, and she’s almost tempted to split, tell Emma she’s sorry and find the next flight back to Baton Rouge, deal with her dad’s quiet disappointment and figure out a way to cope without her best friend until December. It’ll be hard, but at least she’ll be there for the anniversaries, available to play games with Noah if he doesn’t want to talk about Riley and Zoe or let him cry in her arms if he does, and at least she’ll have FaceTime to keep in touch –

Emma touches her shoulder, smiling so big that it has to hurt, and Audrey forgets it all, pushes the thoughts into a nice little compartment of her brain to be dealt with later. She can’t back out now. She can’t do that to Emma. Maybe Emma doesn’t need her – it’s never been about _Emma_ needing _her_ , has it – but she’ll want the comfort of familiarity, of knowing someone will be by her side who gets the nightmares, the panic and the fear.

She needs Emma, and Emma needs someone. So she’s here to stay. 

Carry-on duffel hiked over one shoulder, she lets Emma grab her by the wrist and tug her along on their own little airport adventure. They take the Plane Train too many times to count, pretending it’s with the intention of learning their way around the airport but really just so they can people-watch, giggling like idiots when they still somehow manage to get kind of lost. They buy oversalted jumbo pretzels at the Auntie Anne’s, Emma half-scolding her to brush the crumbs off her sweatshirt after, and they hit up the Hudson’s newsstand so Emma can carry on with her typical tradition of buying a million overpriced magazines that she’ll promptly forget about and only remember to read in her room later. Brooke calls, mourning their lack of proper “airport-chic” attire, and Stavo joins in to make them promise to send him pictures of all the best churches so he can reference them for his sketchbook. Noah’s texting her throughout the day, insisting she delete all her saved passwords to protect her accounts from sketchy public WiFi and suggesting she get a VPN so they can still watch the latest season of _The Good Place_ together. It gives her a weird kind of happiness, running through the airport like this, like something out of a cheesy teen coming-of-age movie. Still, the gratefulness she feels is overwhelming.

It hardly seems like five hours have gone by when Emma drags her into the fanciest restaurant in Terminal C. Audrey feels out of place in her beat-up Doc Martens and baggy sweatshirt, now newly stained with mustard from a mishap with her pretzel, but Emma ignores her complaints and insists that they at least give it a shot, with a fair bit of time still to kill before they have to be at their gate. “C’mon, Auds,” she says, batting her lashes at her like they’re back in high school and she’s just another varsity jock to win over (wow, Audrey hates herself for that thought), “it’ll be fun. We’ll make fun of all the asshole businessmen and order some drinks to take the edge off.”

And because she can never say no to Emma Duval, she agrees.

They’re seated at the bar, a premium lookout spot for rich dickwads, and Emma rifles through the menu with the excitement of a kid at recess, eventually settling on the most colorful drinks their college student incomes can afford. It’s a miracle they’d forgotten to take their fake IDs out of their wallets for the trip – not like they’ll need them in Europe – but Audrey is thankful for small miracles as they down cocktails so sugary it makes her teeth hurt. She could pretend she’d rather be sipping whiskey, but it would be a lie; the sound of Emma’s laughter as they drink and chat is worth it, dental horror and all. 

They’re on their third round of cocktails, just about Audrey’s natural stopping point, when they hear the sound of a camera. Well, specifically, the camera app on an iPhone, but Audrey’s not in the mood for details as she jumps out of her chair, eyes darting towards the source of the sound – some douche in a matching Gucci tracksuit, smirking as he snaps pictures of her and Emma.

Her fists curl on instinct, and Audrey’s already stepping towards the prick when she feels a sharp tug on the hood of her sweatshirt – Emma, eyes wide and face pale. The cotton-candy sweetness of the cocktails goes sour in her mouth. “C’mon, Audrey, let’s go,” she says quietly, the guy in the tracksuit still utterly enthralled. “Let’s just go,” Emma repeats, and Audrey won’t force her to beg, would never dream of it, so she simply nods and grabs her bag, slapping enough money down on the table to cover both of their tabs as Emma gathers her things.

The feeling of eyes on their backs as they hurry into the terminal makes her stomach roll, and her shoulder throbs with dull pain from the weight of her duffel bag. Emma pulls her into the first bathroom they come across, and it’s not until she’s allowed her bag to drop to the floor, Emma’s hands coming to rest on her shoulders, that Audrey realizes she’s breathing too fast, face heated, the beginnings of a panic attack stirring in her chest. It’s been a while since she’s had one – even in New York, post-Mallory, she’d mostly kept her cool – and it’s frustrating that this is what would trigger it, the standard, run-of-the-mill nosiness that every Lakewood survivor has learned to expect.

The fear grips her like a vise, and she’s vaguely aware of how ridiculous she must sound, gasping for breath in the middle of an airport bathroom, but Emma doesn’t allow her to worry about that, holds her face as gently as possible so she can’t try to look out for strangers. “Breathe with me,” she says, going through her therapist’s favorite breathing exercise, counting five beats of breathing in and then ten beats of breathing out, having Audrey count it out on her fingers with her until they’re both breathing at a relatively normal pace.

“Emma,” she finally chokes out, hating how small she sounds, “what if it never gets any better?”

Emma shakes her head, like she won’t even permit the thought to cross her mind. “It’ll be different, Audrey,” she says firmly, eyes burning so bright and so fierce that Audrey has no choice but to believe her. “I promise. Nobody’s gonna know our names over there, and even if they do, we’re not gonna know if they’re asking to see our scars, cause we don’t speak Italian.” She cracks a tentative grin at that, and Audrey can’t fight the smile that spreads across her own face. Emma’s smiles tend to be contagious, even in the darkest of moments.

Audrey’s phone buzzes in her pocket, Emma’s letting out a simultaneous chirp, and she doesn’t have to look to know that it’s the reminder that their flight starts boarding soon. The fear threatens to creep back in, but Emma must sense it, because she immediately shoves Audrey’s bag into her arms, adopting an air of purpose that reminds Audrey of the nerdy middle schooler she first fell in love with.

Emma’s fingers intertwine with hers, and the tightness in Audrey’s chest loosens just a little bit. “Plane’s boarding in ten. C’mon. Let’s get our asses to Italy.”


End file.
